


you're my favorite (christmas present)

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Coulson cooks for Daisy, Coulson's mother mentions, Daisy feels, Drinking, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Future Fic, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a very cousy christmas, sharing stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9053818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Two lonely souls spend Christmas together.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hamsterfactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamsterfactor/gifts).



_He is too little to realize why his mom bought so many presents, but he knows they are too many. He reasons: well, she doesn’t have to buy dad’s now, so he himself gets extra. But of course that means no one has bought his mom any presents this year. He is about to run upstairs to his room and grab anything from his desk - one of his superhero comics, or the plane model he just finished making this week (there’s not much to do on Christmas anyway, and his friends are being weird since dad died) or his precious box with pastel colors. It’s not fair that his mom gets no Christmas presents just because his dad is not here. It makes him extra angry at him for dying. He should have thought about this stuff! About who was going to buy gifts for mom. He promises himself he’ll save money for next year, buy her as much stuff as dad used to._

_Later that day his dad’s sisters and cousins come around for lunch. They bring a lot of food. Too much food. Is this how it’s going to be from now on, too many presents, too much food, too many people showing up, everybody bringing too much only to draw attention to what was missing?_

 

_It makes her hate Christmas._

_It makes her hate everything._

_The nuns shake their heads, whispering about how unusual it was, taking back a child right before Christmas. Right before? Tonight it’s Christmas’ Eve. But she know why they did it. She might be thirteen but she is not an idiot. She is back today instead of the day after tomorrow because the couple didn’t want a stranger showing up in Christmas pictures years later, because they don’t want to have to buy her presents if she’s leaving anyway, because they have decided she is not worth it, that it would be a waste. They suck. She sucks. Actually that’s the problem. The couple should have picked someone else. Someone they didn’t mind spending Christmas with._

_In the common room the rest of the kids with her same predicament are watching some stupid tv movie about the real Santa walking the streets of New York. The movies lie about everything anyway. Like snow. It’s too clean in the movies. She knows real snow is dirty and cold and uncomfortable, not pretty. She sits and watches the movie with the rest of the “rejects” anyway. Outside it’s snowing. Not pretty. Not pretty at all. What did she tell you?_

 

+

 

They were all - except Coulson - leaving tomorrow early to spend Christmas day with their families. Mack had to get up even earlier, swing by Miami and pick up Elena before heading home. So in the end Daisy doesn’t have to share in the holiday mirth for too long. She prefers it this way. Christmas makes her feel weird, anyway, unrooted, weighed down by memories of longing and disappointment.

She comes right at the end of it, their little Christmas party in the common area, when it’s already dying down. She knew they were having one, that’s why she didn’t mind getting back late from her mission, and why she took her time in the shower when she arrived, running the clock. In the end she knew she had to make an appearance. Fortunately when she arrived the Director had already gone to bed. She strains herself a bit, smiling to everyone and asking about their plans for their holidays, but in less than an hour is over and everyone - except Coulson, who, like her, has no reason to get up early tomorrow - is saying their goodbyes and hugging and kissing Daisy’s cheek. They are trying too hard to pretend everything is just like it used to, but they are just following Daisy’s lead. She can’t face the fact that things are not the same, she can’t at least just yet.

When everyone else has gone and she is alone with Coulson she tries tidying the place a bit, help clean the traces of their little party.

“You don’t have to do that,” Coulson tells her. Daisy braces herself for some recrimination about how she should have spent more time with the team tonight, but it never comes, Coulson says nothing else, he simply and gently takes the plate from her hands and puts it down again. “Sit, have some champagne.”

“Thanks.” She pours herself a glass, sitting down. “You want some?”

Coulson sighs. “ _Please_.”

She watches as the mask falls from him as well and his shoulders drop and he relaxes. She is not the only one putting on a happy face for the holidays. His crisp black shirt - still casual, but far more formal than he normally wears these days - tells her all about how hard he is trying too.

He takes a seat next to her on the couch. They down the first glass in silence and Daisy pours another one for each.

“What was your worst Christmas?” she asks Coulson, wanting him to loosen up a bit.

“Oh we’re playing that game.”

“Come on, can’t beat mine.”

He fixes her a look. “Don’t be so sure.”

Daisy stares at him with curiosity. She doesn’t know why, she wants to hear this. Misery loves company kind of thing, she guesses. Or it’s just the company. She hasn’t eaten anything all day, and the champagne has gone to her head directly. And she had wanted to be left alone, but never by him.

“Worst Christmas, uh?” Coulson repeats, looking up. “Easy. First Christmas after my dad died.”

Oh shoot. She’s an idiot, isn’t she.

“Coulson, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-”

He shakes his head. He is still smiling. It’s not a sad smile.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind talking about it. Isn’t that the point?”

He takes a good sip from his glass, too.

“My mom bought a ton of presents. And I mean _a ton_. She went overboard.”

“I can see the logic,” Daisy comments. She feels really sad for her, a young widow trying to make Christmas not suck for her kid. She wishes she could have had a mother like Coulson’s when she was growing up. But not Coulson’s mother - that would make them sister and brother and that’s weird to think about.

“She thought she could somehow fix everything,” he goes on. “She was always fixing stuff.”

Daisy raises an eyebrow - so that’s where he gets it from - but says nothing about it.

“Sorry, that must have been a hard Christmas.”

“The worst,” he says, lifting his glass. “But the memory of it… it’s not that bad, now.”

She gets what he means. It’s a good story. Sad, but not painful. Not that he could appreciate it as a kid. He must have been nine or ten. But now with time… she can understand why he can talk about it without regret. Daisy gets a bit angry, though, irrationally angry - she read the file, she knows it wasn’t Coulson’s father’s fault - that Coulson as a kid and his mom were so cruelly left alone.

“Now you have to tell me yours,” he says, pressing his shoulder against hers for a moment.

Daisy wonders how much he had already drunk before she showed up in the common room. Not that he looks drunk or anything, but he wouldn’t normally be so casual about touching her. It feels nice.

She doesn’t want to dampen his good mood, but her stories rarely have the saving grace of a loving mother trying to make things better.

“It was at the end of my worst year at the orphanage,” she tells him, sparing the details or why, or how it was the first year where she tried to run away. “A nice couple adopted me. But they brought me back on Christmas.”

“Right on Christmas?” he asks, alarmed.

“They drove me back to New York _on Christmas’ Eve_.”

Coulson gives her a sympathetic shake of the head.

“Maybe it was Agent Avery’s secret protocol…” he offers Daisy as comfort.

“I doubt it, that time,” she says. Looking back, remembering the couple’s attitude. No, this time she can’t blame SHIELD. Looking back at who she was back then, she can’t say she blames the couple that much, either. “They just didn’t want to spend Christmas with me.”

Coulson puts his hand over hers. There’s nothing casual about this touch. It’s very Coulson-like. It makes her feel as if that shitty Christmas, that string of crappy years, weren’t that bad. Now she’s here and right now her company is wanted.

“You definitely win this round,” he tells her.

It startles laughter out of her.

“ _Thank you_.”

She fills her glass of champagne once more.

 

+

 

_It makes him feel better, such a simple gesture. He can’t take it, of course, it doesn’t feel like he could ever deserve it, and he tries to give it back, but the man would have none of that._

_“I know you like that kind of stuff, Agent,” Fury says. “Now eat.”_

_More than anything, more than the gift, it’s the way he calls him Agent. He knows technically he’s been an agent for a while now, but it’s not until he says it that it feels real, and like it’s a good thing. Suddenly it’s all worth it, spending years training and disciplining himself - and being away, away from her, from his mom. The way Fury calls him Agent… well, he believes mom would have been proud._

 

_It makes her feel guilty that she feels free, right now. She should be miserable, missing her boyfriend. She doesn’t. There’s something wrong with her, definitely. But it’s hard to feel miserable in this warm weather - she is wearing short sleeves in December, while she can see guys in Santa outfits sweating on the door of shops. She is twenty-two and eating a cheap hot dog outside her van. There’s free wi-fi from the coffeeshop nearby and she is many time zones away from the places where her life had been the crappiest. She knows nobody here, but at least she knows nobody who has ever hurt her here. She has a plan. Better yet, she has a goal. It’s lonely, yes, but not miserable. She doesn’t know if anything good will come out of this, this chase, this plan of hers - but maybe it might. And in the meantime it’s sunny._

 

+

 

“You don’t have to do that,” she tells him. “I’m fine now.”

“It’s okay, it’s nothing,” Coulson tells her, searching the cupboard for the right-sized pan.

Daisy had felt a bit lousy just now and they figured out it was the fact that she had completed a mission and not eaten at all. And then the alcohol - she didn’t get drunk, she got sick. There were sweets and snacks all over the place (even Simmons’ healthy snacks, which make Coulson despair for humanity every time he glances at them) but Daisy could do with something more solid. 

It’s not like Coulson can do much for Daisy, in general. Even before she got her powers there was nothing for her to learn as an agent, and she didn’t need his help on the field in any way (in fact, it became obvious pretty soon Daisy was a more skilled agent than he was, minus the experience, but experience only got you so far). He’s not jealous, he likes that she doesn’t need him. But she has also lost important things and people and she has gone through rough times and Coulson has never been able to help one bit. She is always dealing with things on her own, unfairly expected to be strong enough.

An omelette is the least he could do.

Nothing fancy, but carefully made. Made for her. Taking the eggs out of the fridge and lining everything on the humble kitchen counter Coulson realizes this, this moment, it’s the happiest he’s been in ages.

Ten minutes later he sets the food in front of her, feeling kind of anxious.

“This is great,” she says after the first bite, mouth full.

“It’s just an omelette.”

“No, it’s a _great_ omelette.”

Fine, he admits it, the compliment makes him feel good. It makes his cheeks feel all warm. He sits by her side again, waiting as she finishes the rest of the dish in silence.She really seems starved, and he can still smell shower gel on her skin, and he realizes she probably tried to avoid walking into the common room while the team was in it for as long as she could.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he tells her, grabbing the plate and fork and leaving them in the sink.

“Don’t joke, Phil, or I’ll make you cook me breakfast every day.”

It’s the first time she calls him “Phil” since she’s back and he knows it’s only to underline the fact that she is just joking, and that she only did it because he had his back turned, he knows. He enjoys it anyway. And he doesn’t mind the idea of cooking for her every morning, to be honest.

“Do you feel like going back to the champagne?” he asks, opening another bottle.

“Very - yeah, definitely.”

He hurries back to the couch, a bit needy, not wanting to leave her side for long, realizing how rare this moment of intimacy between them is. He wants to hear more about her past.

“Now, a slightly better Christmas?”

Daisy looks pensive. He watches her. Her eyes shine a bit from the drink. Coulson is not really sorry she missed the proper party, that she purposely missed it - he knows how hard it is for her to be around the whole team, so soon.

“First Christmas in L.A. When I moved there to-”

“To hunt me down?” Coulson offers.

“Not _you_ specifically,” Daisy corrects him, gesturing.

He wouldn’t have minded if it had been him. Specifically. He doesn’t say that.

“Weren’t you alone? Or did Mr Lydon-?”

“I was alone,” Daisy tells him.

He nods. He’s not sure why, but he still feels a pang of distaste in his throat when he thinks about Miles. He doesn’t like it - it makes him feel controlling, unfair to Daisy - so he takes another sip of champagne to wash out the taste.

“I was used to cold Christmas, lots of snow. Never having a decent coat, very Dickensian. L.A. was hot and dry and I was alone, walking strange streets, and it was… good. It felt like starting again.”

Her eyes unfocus as she says that. Coulson stares, knowing how important starting again is for her. He wonders if she would have liked to do it again, but they were keeping her from it. If he was keeping her, keeping her here. Where she doesn’t want to be. He suddenly feels painfully guilty for wanting her here, this moment, for wanting to talk to her and hear her talk, and the missions together. He feels guilty for wanting to see her every morning after he has just woken up and she has already spent hours training on her own.

“Yours?”

“Uh?”

Lost in thought, he has missed Daisy’s question.

“A slightly better Christmas.”

“Oh.” He thinks about it. The word _better_ makes him think about something. “First Christmas after my mom died.”

“Really?”

“I was twenty-two. She died earlier that year, so it wasn’t recent. But I didn’t have anywhere to go to for holidays, so I stayed at SHIELD, at the Academy.”

“Kind of like us right now,” Daisy says. “We don’t have anywhere to go.”

It could have sounded sad but somehow it doesn’t. And Daisy is smiling at him, like they share a secret now. Their own, two-people Christmas party of misery stories, champagne, nausea, omelette, good company.

“Yeah, kind of like us now.”

“Were you alone?” she asks.

“No, there were other young agents who, for one reason or another, weren’t able to go home. Some teachers - there was Fury.”

She wiggles her eyebrow at him. Her expressive, beautiful eyebrows. Coulson has watched entirely conversations happen in those eyebrows, he believes he knows the local language by now.

“Ah, that’s the slightly better part. Right?”

He nods. Daisy knows how he feels about Fury.

“I was keeping myself busy,” he goes on. “Training, running errands, keeping the place clean. Fury told me to stop. He and some other senior agents had organized a little Christmas meal for the agents staying behind.”

“That’s cool,” Daisy comments.

“It was,” he agrees. “Right before dinner he gave me a Christmas gift.”

“What was it?” Daisy asks impatiently, caught up in the tale.

“A SHIELD pin. Very limited edition. They only made one.”

“The same one you gave YoYo this year?” Daisy guesses.

He nods. “I figured, more than anyone, she’d appreciate it.”

“She did,” she assures him. He didn’t know Daisy was aware of the pin, but it makes sense. She is closer to Elena than to anyone else in the team right now. “That sounds like a very nice Christmas, though.Nothing just _slightly better_.”

“Hey. I was moody and homesick, it wasn’t that great,” he protests, pouting. Though he realizes that compared to Daisy’s life his own seems like a good one, even a charmed one.

Daisy chuckles. “I’m not sure I can imagine you moody,” she says, giving his arm a light, friendly slap.

He notices they are touching more than usual, tonight. Maybe it’s the drink. Or maybe Daisy feels lonely. He feels lonely too. 

 

+

 

_Everybody in the hospital seems to know his name, they call him “Philip” like his mother does, like he’s an adult. The other kids in the floor seem to regard him as their senior, because, despite his pneumonia, he is not one of the sick ones, he’s not really one of them. He commandeers them, sneak them out of their rooms and into the cafeteria, the supply closets, making trouble for the nurses. Not too much trouble. He’s a responsible kid, he’s a “Phillip” after all. And he knows mom is new at the job. But these poor kids, they deserve some fun at Christmas. He steals all the board games for them, since it’s unfair they keep them all under lock and key. The nurses didn’t seem to mind._

_“Kills the boredom,” one says about chasing the kids down the hallway._

_“Keeps me from missing my own children,” another one confides in him._

_His mom keeps peeking her head through the door, checking up on him. Once work is over she sneaks in pudding from the cafeteria and sweets from the machine and gets into bed with him and they watch tv together until they both fall asleep._

 

_She draws in a long breath. The scent familiar and strange at the same time. The heartbeat she feels like she has been aware of for years. Her arms around his middle, her cheek against the clean, expensive shirt. The feeling of… not exactly happiness. Happiness is easy. The feeling of being not-alone. The feeling of looking forward to tomorrow morning, and every morning from now on. The feeling of one loving hand running up and down her back, continuing the movement even if the owner is drifting off into sleep. She had been scared of Christmas this year, of people. She had wanted to hide, run away. And now - the feeling of not-wanting-to-run-away. Precise, indescriptible. Next time they play the game, next time she asks, she hopes he’ll answer: “any I get to spend with you”. That’s how she feels right now, after all._

 

+

 

“These are the worst,” Daisy says, swallowing the rest of the snack out of politeness.

Coulson smiles. “They are.”

“Why did you let me put this in my mouth? Why didn’t you warn me they were _Jemma’s_?”

“Here, try these instead,” he gives her one of the chocolate-y ones.

Daisy eats this one with delight, downing a generous sip of champagne afterwards. Once she’s been properly (and deliciously) fed the champagne feels nice and refreshing, like she is lighter somehow. She doesn’t particularly likes champagne at Christmas, or Christmas at all, but who knows, she thinks tonight is making her re-examine those prejudices.

He wonders if he is keeping her up too late, after the long day of a mission - but she doesn’t look tired and she hasn’t looked at the time once and she seems to be having a good time. Coulson can’t get enough of seeing her smile.

“What?”

“Are you tired?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all. But if you are…”

“No, not at all.”

Her smile broadens. Coulson is struck by the thought of how low maintenance she is, how she only requires the minimum expression of affection, how easy it is to love her.

“Best Christmas?” she asks him.

“The first ones after my mother and I moved to Boston. I caught pneumonia.”

Daisy narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t think you know how this game works.”

He laughs. God, has she ever heard him laugh? He should do it more often. It’s pretty adorable, the way he drops his chin to his chest as if embarrassed of the sound. Daisy likes seeing him like this.

“They let me stay in the hospital where mom worked.”

“Was she a doctor?” Daisy asks.

He shakes his head slightly, touched on behalf of his mom for the assumption. She would have liked Daisy.

“She cleaned the rooms, she was a cleaner,” Coulson says. “They let me stay in the children’s wing and… well, that gives you a bit of perspective, even when you’re eleven. After her shift my mother stayed in my room and and we watched Christmas tv and ate vending machine crap all night.”

“That sounds very sweet,” Daisy says, wishing she and her mother could have had such a night. 

“I think I puked from the sweets but I don’t remember that part, so it’s all right. I only remember the good bits.”

“Well, then I’d better take this from you, just in case,” Daisy says, teasingly grabbing the chocolate bar he is holding. They fake a struggle, jokingly, very aware that their hips, their knees are touching. Daisy laughs when he surrenders the sweet, but then takes pity on him and breaks it into two, offering him half.

“Now, _your_ best Christmas,” he asks, touching his knee against her thigh again.

Daisy waits for a beat.

“This one,” she says.

Coulson frowns at the answer.

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs, like it’s so obvious, what she means.

“I’m alone with you, drinking champagne, after a mission, and you’re telling me stories about your mom. This is my favorite so far.”

Coulson stares at her answer. And he’s pretty sure his mouth hangs open. He’d never imagine someone...

“Can I kiss you?” 

Daisy’s eyes go wide at his question. Not in a bad way, Coulson doesn’t think.

“Are you serious?” she asks. It’s not a rhetorical question.

_Come on, Phil_ , he cheers himself on. At his age and with such a person, he needs it.

“Very serious,” he tells her.

“Yeah, okay.”

He leans in gently but decided. First he brushes his lips against hers, then he catches her lower lip between his. Daisy makes a noise at the back of her mouth that goes, Coulson is ashamed to admit, directly to his groin; a sound like she hasn’t been kissed, touched, in ages. The unfairness of that prospect makes him angry at the world and he deepens the kiss, licking the roof of her mouth, his hands flying to her hair, her soft, gorgeous hair.

His kiss feels like a true Christmas present and no, she can’t believe she’s just thought something that mushy and lame. It’s a good thing she didn’t say out loud. But - Coulson’s mouth is amazing. At first she thinks it’s just that she has been starved for touch for so long, but then she realizes she has been starved for him for years, even. She grabs him by the collar, pulling him against her, needy, sure, but she doesn’t mind. Coulson doesn’t seem to mind ever. They’re very much alike, even in this.

The kiss grows more passionate. Hell, it’s like he had forgotten what passion was like, only to be reminded all of the sudden, and like putting frozen skin under warm water it hurts, but it’s necessary. He wants to touch everything, do everything, and tell Daisy all sort of stuff. Tell her she’s lovely, she’s sexy, that he loves her. When he’s able to speak again he says none of that, of course.

Daisy protests when he tears his lips from her, holding her face in his hands tenderly. which is great - she _adores_ the way Coulson touches her - but why has the kissing stopped?

“If you want to leave, you should leave,” he tells her, breathless from the kiss.

“What?” Daisy asks, genuinely confused.

“The team, SHIELD. If you are not happy with the arrangement, you shouldn’t force yourself to stay here,” he tells her. It’s hard to do so, knowing he is opening the door to losing her, but he needs to tell her, she needs to know. He wants her to be happy.

Daisy tilts her head, looking at him fondly. She draws her fingers across his cheek. A stubble is beginning to form but Coulson is soft, so soft.

“It’s okay, I don’t want to leave,” she says. “Staying is not… perfect, not right now. But I don’t want to leave.”

“Are you sure?”

Is she sure? She wasn’t 100%, a few hours ago. Now Coulson has his hands carefully wrapped around her waist - wait, when did that happen? because it feels _great_ \- and now she knows what it feels like to be kissed by him. He has always been a big part of her decision to stay, to not be on her own, and there’s nothing wrong with that. She doesn’t think so. _This_ makes everything more complicated, but the decision itself easier.

She nods. “I’m sure.” There are certain things she is very sure about, she thinks, as she presses her body against his again. “But thank you for saying that. It means a lot.”

“I’ll keep saying it,” he tells her, because it’s the closest thing to a love declaration that is worth something that he can give her right now. Promise her that he won’t cage her, like he has watched others do, promise that he’ll support her.

“Good but… can we go back to the kissing?”

Going back is harder than starting and suddenly they become shy, for a moment, noses bumping comically when they try it. They laugh. Daisy grabs his wrists and holds his arms apart, pressing her mouth against his first. They get back into their rhythm easily. She doesn’t let go, maneuvering them on the couch until she has Coulson pinned down under her weight. Coulson arches his whole body to catch her mouth. He tastes of champagne, Daisy tastes of champagne and the food he made for her, a little while ago, before he knew he loved her. She lets go of his wrists, sliding her hands into his. Her weight becomes lighter on his body, more precious, his desire quieter. There’s tomorrow, he thinks, now he just wants to hold her. There’s tomorrow, and all the rest of tomorrows.

They spend a long time kissing, lighting touching each other over their clothes, and entwining and unlacing their fingers, drawing the lines of their palms slowly and carefully. When the kissing ends (for now, seems to be the underlying promise of a quiet, unquenched thirst they have discovered for each other) they settle along the couch, bodies curled into each other and around each other.

Daisy rests her head on Coulson chest, drawing a breath of that smell that is familiar yet strange, listening to a heartbeat she seems to have been aware of for years. Her arms looped around his body, her cheek against the expensive fabric of his clean black shirt. Unable to put what she feels into words. It’s not exactly happiness - it’s more important than that. It’s the way Coulson runs his hand up and down her back, with love, even as Daisy feels him beginning to fall asleep. _You’re my favorite Christmas memory_ she thinks, because she has decided he will be, because he was always going to be.

“People are going to start waking up,” he says, ever so responsible - Daisy knows he is saying it mostly for her benefit, mindful of her not wanting anyone to know what has been going on between them tonight.

“I wish they wouldn’t,” she whines.

“What do you want to do?” Coulson asks.

Stay here, she thinks, sleep, knowing that’s not practical. 

“You?”

Coulson touches his fingertips against the back of her neck. The feeling of her hair against his skin threatens to wake up his arousal, after it had been comfortable subdued into something more like restrained tenderness. He sighs. He knows what he’d want to do, but he doesn’t know if it’s possible.

“I’d like to take you away somewhere,” he admits.

There’s something aching in his voice, but in a good way. Daisy likes it. She likes the idea too.

“Where to?”

“I don’t know. Maybe your old neighbourhood?” he suggests.

“ _New York_? What about Boston?”

“What about Los Angeles? Good weather, and you don’t have to be alone anymore,” he says.

We could eat cheap hot dogs and wear t-shirts, Daisy thinks, pressesing her nose against his collarbone.

“Sounds nice,” she says. “Why don’t we let Lola decide?”

“We’re taking Lola?” Coulson asks, surprised.

“Of course we are taking Lola,” Daisy declares. “Couldn’t leave her behind, could we?”

He strokes the side of her face, happy to have found not just someone he is crazy about, but a kindred spirit. That this person is Daisy Johnson, her Daisy, her Skye, it’s mind-blowing.

“No, we couldn’t leave her behind.”

“Okay, let’s go pack our bags.”

“Yeah…”

They don’t move, too comfortable and happy and feeling lucky to be in each other’s arms.

They don’t move, for at least five more minutes.

By the time they do it’s morning, almost time for everyone else to go pack their bags, no one suspecting a thing. It’s Christmas Day.


End file.
